Jorah moved slowly into Daenerys' tent, feeling his muscles relax contentedly at the feeling of warmth emanating from the fires within. But despite this welcomed sensation, the cold within his heart seeped through every layer of satisfaction the flames may have brought.

Jorah suspected that Irri brought him to his khaleesi's tent to be executed.

The knight had taken his queen into his arms, and had kissed her. He had pressed to hers not merely in a reverent display of loyalty, but he had lusted after her. He had felt the scent of her fill him, had passed his fingers through her hair and pulled. He had touched her like a goddess, but she threw him out like a thief. And indeed, Jorah had stolen from her. He had stolen her ability to hide her emotions, for that brief moment.

And now, for his crimes, he would die.

Jorah knelt then closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. Ironic that he had avoided death battle after battle, and now the would die at the hands of a small white haired girl whom he had sworn to protect; for she would undoubtedly kill him herself. Daenerys may not have experience as a monarch, but she had honour—and Jorah loved her for it. The Mormont knight had imagined that if he had not been run through by a sword by some gauntleted, angry Stark-not by a fierce woman who, underneath all, was still wide-eyed and fearful, despite all her talk of dragons. Jorah had seen her evolve from a trembling little maiden to a proud young woman. But despite this, Jorah knew his khaleesi possessed more fear than she showed. He could even see that she often doubted herself, which is why she was so often surrounded by advisors. Her fear ran deep, but she put on a brave face and denied it. A khaleesi could not show fear in front of her khalassar.

Jorah exhaled through his nose, then took another breath through his mouth, trying to experience the entirety of the moment in which he now lived. Appreciate these last few breaths, Jorah thought. For your boldness, you will die. Now, in his final moments, the knight would not think of his confession as a crime. The crime was that he had chosen the wrong moment. But when would the right moment be? he wondered. Deep down, he knew there never would be a truly right moment to declare his feelings for her. That this decision was always a risk, especially since Daenerys was above his station and married... But Jorah grew tired of hiding things. And now he had thrown himself at the dragon's feet, and acted surprised to be singed. It would seem as though I'm now at her mercy for the first time, Jorah reflected, seeing nothing but the darkness of his closed lids. But in truth...I have been at her mercy from the day I fell in love with her. It had not been immediate, he had to confess. But once he recognized the depth of his enchantment, he could not break himself from it.

"Ser Jorah." The coldness of her voice whipped him, and he felt himself flinch, though he kept his eyes pressed tightly together. He did not move. He could feel the heat emanating from a torch nearby.

"I speak with you, Ser," Daenerys intoned clearly. "Look at me."

Jorah did as he was ordered, opening his eyes wide. Through them he pleaded for forgiveness, but he would not shame her by begging for his life. But the knight could not withstand the fury he saw within her eyes, and he flicked his gaze to the floor, hanging his head as he often did to show respect. This time, however, was quite different.

"You know of the crime you have committed. My consultants have advised me that the Dothraki customs for such a crime insist on my husband killing you himself, in whichever manner he chooses." Daenerys paused, and Jorah looked up to her face, hoping to see tears or a slip of emotion. But Daenerys looked at him with blank, unreadable eyes. "Drogo will not be coming here tonight. I have not told of him of your transgression. I will deal with you myself." The khaleesi's eyes flicked to her guards, and she waved to them.

"Leave us."

The khas hurried out of her tent, and took with, it seemed, the noise. The flaps of the tent brushed against the ground, and Daenerys waited until the sound of their boots disappeared. Silence descended upon them then, and now Jorah could not break his gaze from her own.

"Daenerys," he began, then paused. He did not quite know what to say. He did not think he would have the chance to speak. "I...I hoped it would not come to this. Truly, my princess, I wished only the best for you...I..." Jorah clenched his jaw, frowning. Why do you speak? he thought. Why shame yourself in your final moments like this? What could you possibly say to sway her judgment?

"Silence!" Daenerys spoke sharply, the blow from her hand even sharper. Jorah did not move to stop her hand, and winced when her she hit his face. Despite her tiny stature, her strength was undeniable. Now tears brimmed his eyes. He could not help it.

"Khaleesi," he spoke without knowing what next he would say—without knowing how he could possibly right this wrong. But then he noticed Daenerys' expression, and creased his brow in shock. She trembled, not out of rage, as he had suspected, but sorrow.

"My bear," she said quietly, under her breath, and in that moment Jorah knew. He moved to rise to his feet, but Daenerys moved more quickly than he. She knelt down so her face was level with his own, and slipped her fingers over his face. "Why did you do this, my knight? Why did you put me in this position?"

Jorah balked. He had not considered that Daenerys would see it this way.

"It is true, my princess," Jorah admitted, still feeling the waves of relief flow over him with every stroke of her thumb on his cheek. "My actions were not well thought out...nor were they selfless. I thought only of myself, of my need to speak my desires...and of my desires for you. Please, khaleesi, please forgive me. I meant you no harm. Please, Daenerys..."

"Shh," she hushed him, blinking quickly. Jorah noticed the tears which slid down her face. "Ser, do not beg. It is below you." The Mormont knight went quiet, holding back the flood of words which seemed to escape him, leaving the dialogue to their bodies.

"The truth is, dear ser," Daenerys continued softly, inclining her head to better admire him. Jorah noticed her eyes slip down to his mouth. "I wish to be close to you."

"How close, khaleesi?" Jorah spoke quietly now, too, as if the silence of the night would betray them. Daenerys licked her lips, making them more luscious and beautiful than before. Jorah felt his need for her begin to grow exponentially.

"Close."